


Homesick

by milqueshakes



Category: Naruto
Genre: Cliche, Drabble, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milqueshakes/pseuds/milqueshakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a smile on her face, calm and quiet- but standing this close, it was plain her sights had settled a thousand miles southwest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homesick

"It never used to rain much, back home," she said, and her voice was small under the pattering murmur of it. She’d usurped your favorite spot on the roof, shielded from the weather by the awning over your bedroom window, but her skirt was rolled up and she’d stuck her bare legs out into the storm. You watched her toes for a moment, spread and wiggling in the rivulets of water rolling down the corrugated tile, and when you shifted your eyes back up to her face, she’d turned hers on you.

The hair on the back of your neck prickled, and you floundered momentarily for words.

"You’ll get used to it," you spit out at last, and crossed your arms firmly over your chest, carefully avoiding further eye contact as you leaned into the windowsill. "They don’t call it the Leaf for nothin’."

You chanced a second glance, and she’d looked away again, turning instead out over a cluttered sea of ridged rooftops and low-slung wires. Even the village itself was choked with green at that time of year, and beyond the high walls and flanking red cliffs, the forests for which the settlement had indeed been named were all but bursting with life, hazy as they may have been beyond the filmy curtain of the rain.

"I guess I'd better, hadn't I?"

There was a smile on her face, calm and quiet- but standing this close, it was plain her sights had settled a thousand miles southwest. The awning was draining directly into the tin can you called your ashtray, a hollow ringing stream you only noticed now that the silence had thickened, and suddenly the sound was grating, almost painfully so. 

You pushed yourself away from the window again, but with the lights switched on against the gloom, not even your own shadow seemed willing to follow you back down the stairs.


End file.
